AN AGRICULTURAL GENIUS-OLD STYLE

Towards the hour of noon Harry Hodson, of Upcourt Farm, was slowly
ascending the long slope that led to his dwelling. In his left hand he
carried a hare, which swung slightly to and fro as he stepped out, and the
black-tipped ears rubbed now and then against a bunch of grass. His
double-barrel was under his right arm. Every day at the same hour Harry
turned towards home, for he adhered to the ways of his fathers and dined
at half-past twelve, except when the stress of harvest, or some important
agricultural operation, disturbed the usual household arrangements. It was
a beautiful October day, sunny and almost still, and, as he got on the
high ground, he paused and looked round. The stubbles stretched far away
on one side, where the country rose and fell in undulations. On the
distant horizon a column of smoke, broadening at the top, lifted itself
into the sky; he knew it was from the funnel of a steam-plough, whose
furnace had just been replenished with coal. The appearance of the smoke
somewhat resembled that left by a steamer at sea when the vessel is just
below the horizon. On the other hand were wooded meadows, where the rooks
were cawing--some in the oaks, some as they wheeled round in the air. Just
beneath him stood a row of wheat ricks--his own. His gaze finally rested
upon their conical roofs with satisfaction, and he then resumed his walk.

Even as he moved he seemed to bask in the sunshine; the sunshine pouring
down from the sky above, the material sunshine of the goodly wheat ricks,
and the physical sunshine of personal health and vigour. His walk was the
walk of a strong, prosperous man--each step long, steady, and firm, but
quite devoid of haste. He was, perhaps, forty years of age, in the very
prime of life, and though stooping a little, like so many countrymen, very
tall, and built proportionately broad across the shoulders and chest. His
features were handsome--perhaps there was a trace of indolence in their
good-humoured expression--and he had a thick black beard just marked with
one thin wavy line of grey. That trace of snow, if anything, rather added
to the manliness of his aspect, and conveyed the impression that he was at
the fulness of life when youth and experience meet. If anything, indeed,
he looked too comfortable, too placid. A little ambition, a little
restlessness, would perhaps have been good for him.

By degrees he got nearer to the house; but it was by